


Take Me Home

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Phil Coulson is a mama bear, Schmoop, Tony Feels, dub-con, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony isn't himself these days. Afghanistan is still heavy on his mind, dragging him down, drowning him, and hurting him. But this is, after all, Tony Stark, and there is no man he wants to destroy as much as himself, and so Tony goes out drinking, desperate, frightened, and exhausted. Now, though, he's got someone out looking for him to bring him home safe. Agent Phil Coulson may not have wanted the job at first, but he's sharp enough to know when he's got to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discussions and Dysfunction

**Author's Note:**

> So this entire fic started around my depressing, horrible, horrible headcanon that Tony has been raped at some point, in the sense of being too drunk to consent. Adding onto that, that Obadiah would engineer such incidents, knowing they would just be looked at as drunk party shenanigans, and it would only hurt Tony's reputation further and make him more unstable, and thus, likely to be locked out of his company.  
> You're welcome.  
> However, thankfully, Phil Coulson is a knight in a finely tailored suit, and so I made my headcanon suck less.  
> This is divided up into two parts, because as it happened, there was a decent breakaway halfway through, and as a oneshot, it's a bit large.  
> The moral to this part is that Tony is a big whiny baby when he's exhausted. Seriously, he pitches a temper tantrum and everything. It would be funny if it wasn't...y'know, depressing as hell. Also that Pepper Potts is actually the best. That's a moral in everything I write, though. Also, Phil Coulson is best nanny. Forever.  
> Also, I have no clue where in Iron Man this is; a bit after Pep and Phil first meet, I think. Tony's still suffering PTSD, not that he ever stopped, but they're not really suspicious of Obadiah yet. Although I used S.H.I.E.L.D. because anything else is just a ridiculous mouthful. I suppose you could argue that they already had the codename but didn't usually use it in civilian affairs, I don't know.

It wasn't that Phil Coulson wasn't good at his job. He most certainly was. One of the best and brightest S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer in terms of agents. He excelled beyond compare in maintaining a veneer of civility and approachability to a general public unused to the government's inner workings while still handling black-ops missions and unnatural occurrences and people with ease. Phil Coulson was not a man swayed by much of anything. 

Except Tony Stark.

Tony Stark was very, very good at his job. The best former weapons manufacturer in the country, in fact, with the money to prove it. He was an eccentric, charismatic, temperamental, and fundamentally disturbed playboy. And he had a keen knack for getting on Coulson's last nerve.

This wouldn't be a problem had Fury himself not ordered Coulson on this mission.

"Watch Tony Stark," he had told him, calmly, quietly, like he wasn't condemning Phil to more frustration and stress at the hands of the engineer himself, "and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I've got plans for him, agent, and I need him to be alive and well for them to come to pass."

Fury knew Stark was Iron Man. He wasn't a fool, and neither was Coulson. It was just a little too convenient, a little too coincidental, that just after Stark's return from Afghanistan, a man utilizing technology that could have only come from Tony Stark himself had cracked down on terrorists. Oh yes. They knew. S.H.I.E.L.D. had a reputation to uphold, after all.

So that was exactly why Coulson was having a glass of wine with his assistant and listening to her talk about Tony. 

He actually liked Pepper's company. Once he had settled in, Pepper had immediately become interested in him. He didn't work for the company, per se, but he was always there these days; as he had told her, he was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s liasion. Sure, she wasn't exactly sure what that entailed, but it was, quite frankly, better that way. It meant she was a little more honest with him, thinking him a simple government employee rather than a black-ops secret agent in charge of Fury's new habit of collecting superhumans.

Pepper regarded him honestly and fairly, and so he liked her. He listened to her rant about Tony and offered advice, and so she liked him. So the two met nightly now for dinner and some wine, a bit of relief from the stress of Stark Industries.

"And Obadiah just won't let up these days, Phil, it's a _nightmare_!" Pepper told him, pouring more into her wine glass than she normally took; Phil raised an eyebrow, concerned. Pepper slugged back half the glass and refilled it, sighing heavily.

"Jesus," she muttered, "I've never fucking liked him. Absolute bastard. One of the leftovers from Howard, and everyone here knows what a fuck he was. Treating Tony that way. The fucking _nerve._ "

Her protective instincts in regards to Tony were actually almost adorable. They would have been more so if Coulson had not been well aware of how easily Pepper could drop a man at least three times her size. Working for Stark Industries sort of made self-defense classes a prerequisite, and he had watched her work. 

"I don't know him very well," Coulson said, keeping his tone neutral, "but isn't he effectively running the company while Tony copes with his PTSD?"

"He is," Pepper agreed, sighing heavily, "and none of us like it. Me and Rhodey both know he's after something. Something big. And--" She swallowed, taking another gulp of wine. "I'm _scared_ for him, Phil. Rhodey's trying to protect him, he's been sleeping over Tony's house, watching him in the lab, but Tony's...Tony's Tony, and he wants to go out."

Coulson frowned, taking a sip of his wine. No more than a sip now, though; something was going to go wrong, and very soon. He could feel it. And he didn't like it.

"I told him to stay in his house until we got things sorted out." He said, his voice quiet and calm. Pepper actually laughed at him.

"You thought he would _listen?_ " She shook her head and bit her lip. "I've known him since he just started the company, Phil. And he still won't let me tell him to eat dinner."

"I see." Coulson said. He took another sip of wine. Sure, he needed to be on task and not soused, but dealing with Tony Stark usually required a little eroding of his sobriety. He sighed.

"Pepper, where is Tony right now?" He asked. "And where is Stane?"

"Obadiah's in his office," she told him, "and Tony should still be at home, as far as I know. Rhodey hasn't texted me that he's snuck out."

"All right..." Coulson sighed and massaged his temples. "Pepper? I have a bad feeling about tonight." He told her. "I need you to stay close to Stane. Go offer your assistance; you're Stark's assistant, he might reveal something by trying to get you on his side. Plus, as far as he's concerned, you're _his_ assistant now, since he believes he runs the company. Arrogance makes idiots of very clever men." He stood up. 

"I'm going to see Tony," he promised her, "and make sure he stays put. He can't go out. Not tonight."

"Your _instinct_ tells you that, huh?" Pepper said, giving him a look and raising a single eyebrow. Coulson huffed. He wouldn't normally get his hackles up at such a comment, but he did have a bit of pride, and she needed to know she could trust what he was doing, besides.

"Pepper, for the record, my instinct has saved _lives_ before, on the field and off. I protect my men and women with everything I have at my disposal. As of my assignment to the Stark project, Tony Stark and yourself, as far as I'm concerned, are my crew. You _do not_ take unnecessary risks when encountering Stane. I _do not_ let Stark leave his house tonight. And if this instinct is wrong, then all Tony's missed is a night of carousing he can soon make up. If it's _right_...it might make the difference between Tony's life and death." He dropped his voice, made it gentle and soft. "Please trust me, Pepper. I'm trusting you."

She stood up and threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

"Don't _you_ get yourself killed, either," she said thickly, "since as far as _I'm_ concerned, you're _my_ assistant, and I don't appreciate my help getting killed off."

"I am continually impressed that being Stark's assistant is so stressful that you require an assistant of your own." Coulson said, amused. Pepper just smiled.

"It's a living," she told him. "Now, please; go see to Tony. I'll go see what I can do about Obadiah. Tell Rhodey I sent you over; he'll let you into the lab."

"All right," Coulson agreed, "and good luck."

"You too, agent." Pepper said. "And thanks for the plan."

"It's a living." Coulson replied, unable to stop a smile as he left the room beside her, the two of them parting ways at the head of the stairs. 

...

Rhodey's face was drawn when Phil knocked on the door. He looked like a man who had just fought his way through a battlefield. Or Tony Stark's lab.

"Pep sent you?" Rhodey asked. Coulson nodded. Rhodey opened the door wider to let him in. 

"I take it you've been having a tough time." Coulson said, looking around. Pizza boxes and  cartons of Chinese littered the room, all mostly uneaten. Rhodey snarled.

"He won't _eat_!" Rhodey snapped. "I've bought him everything he likes, tried to get him to eat in the lab, anything to just make him swallow some damn food, but he's blowing me off for this--this--"

"I know about Stane, Rhodey," Coulson told him, "and if I may defend Tony, as frustrating and unwelcome of a task as I may find that action, he is even more frustrated and stressed than normal with the advent of Stane's evident usurping of his company. He won't eat. And trying to make him will only make him snap at you and prevent you from getting anything else done. Let him be on the food for the moment, Colonel."

"...All right," Rhodey muttered after a moment's pause, "but I don't like it, Phil."

"Neither do I," Phil confessed, because he had seen the gauntness of Tony's cheekbones as of late, and the hollow valley his stomach was beginning to form, and he knew it boded ill from experience, "but it's either we fight this minor battle and prevent ourselves from winning the big one, or abandon this battle and win the war, so to speak."

"Fair enough..." Rhodey sighed and shook his head, murmuring, "I take it you need to get down into the lab?" He looked at Coulson. "What do you think you're gonna be doing about it?"

"I'm not going to do much of anything he won't like," Coulson said mildly, "just keep him in the lab or his bedroom for the night. He can't argue with me on that one, can he?"

Rhodey actually laughed at that.

"Probably not, but it's Tony. He'll find a way." Rhodey said, beckoning for Phil to follow him down into the lab. "Though now I'm curious; why tonight? You're not usually so eager to follow him home and keep an eye on him here. That's normally my job." 

"Instinct." Coulson said simply. Rhodey raised an eyebrow, but he was a military man. He understood. And so he nodded and bowed his head in acknowledgement, leading Coulson down into the lab and typing in the code to access the lab.

_"Anthony, Agent Coulson is here to see you,_ " JARVIS' mechanical voice resounded throughout the lab, " _as is Colonel Rhodes._ " 

"JARVIS." Coulson greeted the machine. The two of them had built up a rapport during the times Phil had spent at Tony's house. Both of them had a common interest in Billie Holiday and being frustrated at Tony while still maintaining a veneer of fussy civility. They were a match made in nanny heaven.

_"Hello, Philip."_ JARVIS greeted him with all the warmth a machine could muster, adding, _"Are you here to check on Anthony?"_

"Yes, I am," Phil said, making his way to Tony's worktable, "I've got a few things to discuss with him."

Tony sat slumped over his worktable, fiddling with a screwdriver and a piece of equipment that Coulson, despite his research into mechanics and technology for his job, didn't recognize. His hair was messy and hung in his face. His cheekbones were gaunt, and his stomach growled as Coulson watched him, the noise reverberating throughout the room. There were bags underneath his eyes, which were dulled with a lack of sleep. His hands shook ever-so-slightly as they fiddled with the machine. 

Coulson didn't always get along with Stark. He was bratty and self-centered and oblivious to the world around him, and he brushed off the concerns of the few that cared for him so easily. He wasn't sure how to handle Tony, and Coulson never liked things he couldn't handle.

Regardless, his heart ached for him.

He wondered, briefly, if his instinct hadn't been focused on any external danger, but instead had alerted him to the sheer, overwhelming need for Tony to get a good night's sleep. 

However, his instinct that somehow, _something_ tonight was going to go wrong if he didn't watch over Tony hadn't waned yet, so he figured there was something deeper at work...which was he needed to have a talk with him about.

"Stark." He greeted him. Tony grunted, shaking. He didn't meet Phil's eyes, clutching the piece of machinery like a well-worn safety blanket. Phil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd had plenty of experience dealing with stubborn men, but at least Clint would listen to him eventually. Tony? Not so much.

"I'm here to tell you..." He faltered for a second, realizing he would need to have a real, concrete reason as to why Tony wasn't allowed out, even if it was a lie. Fortunately, Coulson had become a very good liar in working with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government. "Pepper sent me here to tell you that you aren't to go out tonight. Not drinking, not partying, not anything. She's...concerned about you, Tony. As is Rhodey. They would prefer if you either remained in your lab for the night or, god willing, went to bed." 

It wasn't a perfect lie, but a direct order would ruffle Tony's feathers too fast. Coulson waited to see his reaction. He knew full well that it wouldn't be positive.

"Pepper thinks she can order me around?" Tony snapped. There was a spark in his eyes again, but Coulson didn't like the way it shone. The words had affected him more than he had thought they would... 

"It isn't an order, Stark, but if you don't comply, _I'll_ be the one giving you the order." Coulson said, his voice stern. Tony snarled. Coulson just rolled his eyes.

"Stark, for god's sake, you can barely stand up on your own two feet. You really should be in bed. Consider yourself lucky we're not ordering you right up to bed instead of just asking you not to go drinking." He snapped, losing his temper momentarily--an easy thing to do around Tony.

Tony just grinned. Coulson didn't like it. It spoke of ill omens and a very disobedient engineer.

"Oh, _really_?" Tony cooed. "Do _you_ want me in bed, Phil? Is _that_ it? Well, I'm taken." He huffed and chuckled darkly, fingering the arc reactor in his chest. "Besides, I doubt you could handle this."

"I'm sure I could, I've got a taser." Coulson said coolly. "But that isn't the _point,_ Tony. The point is that I'm asking you to either remain in your lab or in your house. Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts are in agreement with me on this." His voice dropped, became low and gentle. He remembered he wasn't speaking to the snotty, bratty engineer he knew; he was talking to a tired, mentally unstable man who was emotionally vulnerable at the best of times, and so he sat beside him, close enough for him to feel safe, but not so close he felt threatened.

"Tony, we're just trying to look out for you," he murmured gently, "and if you worry at all about your friend's feelings, regardless of how you feel about me, you ought to go upstairs, eat some food, and go to bed. They're worried about you."

"No they're _not_ ," Tony snapped, his voice slurred with exhaustion and harsh with pain. "They're worried about the _company_ and what _I'm_ gonna do to fuck it up. They don't care about _me._ They _never_ cared about _me._ "

"Even if that was true, which I assure you it isn't," Coulson said, his voice quiet, "I have no stake in Stark Industries. I'm here solely for you, and you alone. So I suppose you could say I care."

Tony stared at him for a minute, wetting his bruised lips with his tongue as he watched him.

"You're just some prissy government pencil-pusher," Tony told him, "and I doubt _you_ give a shit. You've made _that_ clear."

Tony stood up, wiped engine oil off his hand and onto his jeans, and made his way upstairs, pushing past Coulson.

"I've got somewhere to _be,_ " Tony said, climbing the stairs, "far away from people who don't give a shit! I'm gonna go somewhere _safe_ , and _you_ won't be able to find me! So _leave me the hell alone_!" 

Coulson watched him storm upstairs and slam the door behind him. He raised an eyebrow in the silence that rang in his ears afterwards. 

Well, that took care of that. Tony could throw his temper tantrum like the whiny little child he was, and as he made his way upstairs, Rhodey would catch him and put him to bed. 

He chuckled lightly as he made his own way upstairs, shaking his head. An honest to god temper tantrum. He really must have been _exhausted._..even _Tony_ had more composure than that, normally. 

Coulson opened the door into the main part of the house just in time to hear Rhodey swear, throwing a box of pizza across the kitchen and cursing up a storm. 

He shut the door behind him quietly and raised an eyebrow, a headache starting to pound behind his temples. Something had gone wrong again...

"Colonel?" Coulson called, keeping his tone neutral despite the sudden stab of fear his instincts sent lancing through him. "What happened to Tony?"

"He's _gone_!" Rhodey shouted, his eyes wild and his cheeks flushed. Coulson blinked, stopping in his tracks and staring at the other man.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I mean, I just saw him pitching a fit not two minutes ago. He was being absolutely ridiculous; he's overtired, I'm sure of it, I thought you put him to bed..."

"I was gonna, but," Rhodey swallowed and shook his head, tears of frustration, exhaustion, and worry springing to his eyes, "but Tony just pushed past me, he had the keys--he took the car, I heard him, he--I don't know where he _is,_ Phil, he's gonna get _lost_ or he's gonna get _kidnapped_ or _hurt_ , and I can't--I already let him get kidnapped _once,_ not again _, not again..._ "

"Ssh, ssh..." Coulson soothed him, sitting Rhodey down on the couch and placing a carton of Chinese by him. "Rhodey, eat something. You need to eat something as much as Tony did."

"Not while he's _missing_!" Rhodey cried. "Please, I gotta go keep an eye on him! He's my best friend! I'm in charge of him! I--I have to _take care_ of him, _please._.."

"You've done enough, Colonel," Coulson promised, "and I'm sure once Tony comes to his senses, he'll be grateful. Right now, though, he's lost somewhere in Malibu, disorientated and exhausted. In other words, vulnerable. Which means I need to get a bead on him." He frowned. 

He had thought Tony was just joking around, or overreacting; being his usual self, the bratty, eccentric engineer with temper issues. He had honestly thought Tony was going to be safe. And...and now...

Coulson swallowed. He wouldn't show his worry on his face--he didn't want to disturb Rhodey any further, since the other man already seemed panicky. Exacerbating his worries wouldn't help.

"I'm going to call Pepper," he said, "and we'll find Tony. He's going to be just fine. He just left the house for a bit. He won't be in any danger. We'll see to it."

Rhodey nodded, settling in on the couch. He even took a bite of the food once Coulson shot him another look to do so. Phil picked up his phone and began to dial as he left the house, heading out to his car and leaving Rhodey waiting behind at the house, hoping Tony would wisen up and come back of his own accord.

...

Pepper really, _really_ didn't like Obadiah. Ever since she had been hired as Tony's assistant, she had always done her best to stay out of his way. It wasn't that he had ever been particularly cruel to her, or even anything more than polite; there was always just this thin veneer of... _something_ to him that she didn't particularly like. So she did her best to avoid him, trusting her instincts, for the most part.

And yet here she was, sitting in his office, well aware of where his gaze was traveling, listening to him badmouth her Tony. 

She didn't like it. Not one goddamned bit. But she had a job to do, and this, unfortunately, was it.

"...Honestly, sometimes I look at him and I just wonder if all that sex has rotted his mind!" Obadiah chuckled warmly, like he wasn't being horrendously cruel to a man who regarded him as his friend. "He's just been acting up so badly lately. I've recommended him therapists, it's _obvious_ he's got PTSD, but he just won't _listen_. He _never_ has, who am I kidding; he's an idiot! It isn't in his nature to listen to _anyone_." He sighed and shook his head, looking at her.

"Oh, Virginia, sometimes I just don't understand how you can keep working for him. He _never_ listens to your helpful advice, and he barely remembers to treat you with _respect_ half the time!" Obadiah tsked. "I would never treat my assistants in such a manner. Just a thought you ought to keep in mind."

_My name's_ Pepper _, Stane. And maybe you treat your assistants nicely, but that courtesy sure as hell doesn't seem to extend to your friends._

Pepper fumed quietly, trying not to bare her teeth in his office. It would be incredibly strange and implausible if she turned into a snarling wildcat and tore out Obadiah's throat, even if it was _completely justified_.

"Working for Tony can be taxing, Mr. Stane, but I'm more than aware of my comfortable position, regardless of the stress. Tony _is_ the head of the company, after all." She said quietly. 

Obadiah chuckled, low and deep in his throat. It sent shivers up her spine.

"Not for long." He murmured, so soft she barely heard him. 

Pepper's knuckles went white as she gripped her phone.

As luck would have it, it was then that her phone chose to ring. Pepper jumped, startled, before answering it quickly, telling him, "Sorry, urgent message about work..."

She held the phone against her ear, hoping to be comforted by Coulson's voice and the promise that he'd gotten Tony to sleep, if only for a little while. 

Instead, what he had to tell her left her stomach twisting, her face pale and her heart plummeting to the floor.

" _Tony's gone_ ," Coulson said, _"and neither Rhodey nor I can find him."_

Pepper swallowed, shaking. Beside her, Obadiah stirred, watching the conversation with hungry eyes.

"Is that right?" She said, trying to keep her tone as neutral as possible despite the horror in her heart, pounding viciously through her veins. "Well, you know how he is. He's probably out enjoying himself."

_"Is there any place you think he might go, Pepper?_ " Coulson asked. " _Please. Rhodey's a nervous wreck. I'm going to go try looking for him_."

Pepper frowned. She didn't want to say it. Not within Obadiah's earshot. But she couldn't very well excuse herself without raising more than a few questions.

Pepper swallowed. She had to make her choice. Either she risked Tony's life by leaving Phil without a guide, possibly only finding him after it was too late, or she risked Tony's life by possibly having Obadiah pull something when Tony was vulnerable.

Pepper made her choice. Her knuckles white as she gripped the phone.

"There's a few clubs," she whispered, her voice hoarse and pained, "that he always goes to. I'll give you their addresses."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Obadiah pulling the addresses up online as she read them aloud to Coulson. She was suddenly and overwhelmingly overtaken with the violent urge to tear out his eyes and cut off his hands to stop him.

"Phil?" Pepper whispered as she finished giving him the addresses. "Please find Tony. Please bring him home. He can't..."

"I'll protect him." Coulson promised her, his voice solemn. Pepper nodded, blinking back tears as harshly as she could. Phil sighed. "He's going to be all right, Pepper. Nothing's going to happen to him."

"Thanks, Phil." She whispered. Her hands were shaking as she ended the call and settled back into her seat. As she did so, Obadiah picked up his phone.

"Right, Weils, I need two crates of that Tahitian rum Tony likes and a few of the ladies I have on hand sent to a few addresses..." He gave the addresses to the man on the other end of the line before hanging up and looking up at Pepper. He smiled. His eyes were dead, glazed; shark's eyes.

"There we go, then!" He said cheerfully. Pepper felt ill. "That'll cheer Tony up, I'm sure of it. We'll have him back to his old self in no time. Don't worry about a thing, Ms. Potts." He settled into his chair. "And make me some coffee, would you?"

Pepper left his office without a word, her hands shaking. It was the only thing that betrayed her as she made her way down the hallway, towards Tony's office. It was only once she had locked herself in there for a little while that she let herself sink onto a couch and sob, fear overtaking her in dark, dense waves. She hugged one of his suit jackets he kept lying around in case of a sudden desire to look professional and breathed in his scent, soft spices and the musky, earthy reek of gritty engine oil, letting it soothe her enough to clear her head and grab her phone to call Phil.

She cursed suddenly, violently, and with careless abandon; she couldn't get a signal. Something in the building was blocking her phone...

She settled in for a second, still clutching Tony's jacket like a security blanket. She needed to steel herself before going back to deal with Obadiah. Hopefully, Phil could deal with the new problem arising on his own...


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is a knight in shining armor. Tony has issues. Phil is there to take care of him, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said this would be updated the next day I guess I lied.  
> Woops.  
> Anyways, ignoring that, I love this fic but again, Tony has PTSD so--please don't read this if that triggers you. On top of that, there's some mild dub-con and a failed attempt at rape; if that would trigger you, please don't read this.  
> That aside, Phil is the best, the end. Also despite the ending...I don't know if this is in AatA canon? Honestly, I feel like it could be, but Tony would've brought it up by now at least once, so...I don't know. You can think it is if you like!  
> Not much else to say...I hope you enjoy this.

Tony drove his car through the streets, his head held high and his eyes wild. He needed to go somewhere, anywhere, to get away from his house, his friends, everything. They didn't love _him._ They didn't want _him_ to stay. Nobody did. Not even himself.

He drove around until, by chance, he drove past one of his favorite clubs--one of the ones Pepper had told Coulson about, (though he didn't know that, of course.) He smiled.

Maybe nobody loved _him_ , but they sure as hell liked his money and his body. He could use both of them here.

Tony parked the car and locked it, shoving the keys in his pocket and making his way inside. They let him in without a word, their eyes bright with awe. 

Murmurs. Whispers.

Tony tilted his head back to drink in the adulation, smiling thinly as he made his way to his usual table. There was already someone there; a curvy brunette with a bright smile and dull eyes. Tony raised an eyebrow. 

"Obadiah sent me here to keep you company." She greeted him by way of explanation. Tony snorted derisively. The girl chuckled. 

"With a few crates of Tahitian rum." She added. 

Tony just grinned. 

...

Coulson sighed and drove through the streets, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as he began the heady task of visiting the six clubs Pepper had given him. Worry for Tony gripped his heart, even though he'd rather not admit it. 

He had just seemed so _pained._ It was a silly temper tantrum, sure, but Tony had been genuinely miserable. He shouldn't have brushed it off. He should've...

Coulson shook his head. No time to dwell on it. If he dwelt now, he would slow down, and possibly even lose Tony at whatever club he was at. 

Phil sighed and sped up a little, trawling the parking lot for one of Tony's cars. No sign of it...

He shook his head and went on to the next club.

...

Tony slugged back half the bottle of rum in one go, prompting awed hoots from the other onlookers in the club. Tony himself just wiped his mouth and cracked up, laughing helplessly for a minute before gesturing grandly about with the bottle, settling into his seat, the brunette sitting beside him, her thigh against his own.

Tony wasn't drunk. Not yet. He was actively trying to get there, though, and that meant the first crate of liquor was polished off in the matter of perhaps twenty minutes, accounting for the few bottles he shared with the lovely lady clinging to him and the few people who dared flitter close to Tony Stark, like moths hesitant to get that close to what was so clearly a dangerous flame.

Tony continued to pour himself drinks, licking his lips nervously and tossing them back in succession; after six shots in a row, the bar was cheering, and Tony felt ill. He continued to drink, regardless. His body had been through worse, and it wasn't like he was particularly concerned about staying sober. 

Still, when he tried to stand up--why had he wanted to stand up, now he forgot--he swayed on his feet, and his stomach began to hurt.

Tony whimpered softly, trying to maintain a bright smile as he saw the cameras flashing. His knees were shaking, though, as were his hands. He adjusted his sunglasses and looked around, biting his lip. 

He couldn't see straight. Everything in the room spun around him, blurred and bright, and even as he tried to reach out and grip at it, he couldn't focus. Everything felt like he was...was under water...

Tony retched, covering it up with his sleeve and a smile, swallowing down the bile that had risen up in his throat and moaning with agony as he washed out the taste with more rum.

Bad idea. Bad. Water. Water in his mouth. Water in his nose. Water surrounding him, crushing him, _choking_ him, he could not die here could not die _help_ someone help _pepper_ rhodey help _help_

Tony excused himself to go to the bathroom, still smiling and waving to everyone. The brunette Obadiah had sent over waved coyly back, holding a glass of rum in her hand.

Tony locked himself in the nearest stall and vomited, his throat convulsing wildly and his eyes searing with unshed tears. He puked until his stomach was entirely empty and gasped for air, wiping his mouth clean and trying to steady himself. No one was choking him. No one was hurting him. He was safe. Safe and sound. 

Except when he stood up the entire world began to spin again, and when he scrabbled at the walls to try to gain purchase, they slipped away from him. Tony pounded them and snarled, shaking his head and trying to stand up straight. He couldn't lose it. Not here. Not now. 

But it was dark in here and it smelled like the pit after they'd kept him locked in there for a few days, and things were dark and hurt and _he_ hurt and there was blood somewhere and he couldn't see no light there was something in his chest sharp hurt stabbing someone help pepper rhodey pick me up _rhodey_

Tony gasped and slammed his head against the wall. The pain and the ringing in his head were much better than the agony that he had just been feeling. At least this pain was physical. At least it would fade.

Tony's whole body convulsed suddenly, and he gripped the arc reactor for support, a reminder that he was alive and safe. It didn't help. All it did was pulse underneath him, hot and painful and the _burning_

it burned like sharp and shrapnel and watching the people you trust with your heart die and it tore him up all scars and reckoning and he wanted to _die_ but it wouldn't _let him_

Tony yanked his hand away from the reactor like he had been burned. He stood there in the stall for a minute, adjusting himself and pulling himself together. He flushed the toilet, unlocked the door, came outside, and washed his face and hands in the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror. His lip curled in disgust.

He left the bathroom after that. He went back to his table without a word and chugged another half-bottle of rum. 

Then, brunette in arm, he went out on the dancefloor and ground hopelessly and rough against other people's bodies in the hopes of escaping from his own.

...

Phil swore in frustration and massaged his temples, gritting his teeth and driving halfway across town to search for Tony. He had already searched four of the clubs, and so far, nothing. None of the writhing mass of people coming in and out had been Tony, and he was officially starting to get nervous. He was lost in this damn town, no closer to finding Tony than he had been an hour and a half ago, and completely without leads!

He sighed and turned around, plugging in the next address to another club on his GPS. This would be the fifth one; at least, if Tony was a no-show at this one, he had his most likely location pinned down...but the trouble with that was that it was on the other side of town. There was no way that he would get to Tony quickly.

Phil bit back another curse and tore off for the other club, hands gripping the wheel so tight he felt the leather creaking in protest. His car smelled like sweat and panic, like a field mission. He didn't like it.

He rolled down the windows, but the whole town reeked of alcohol and desperation, which, at the moment, was a more potent reminder of Tony that he would have liked. It was better than the stink of a war zone, though, and so Phil left the windows down.

He took ten minutes to get to the fifth club, going through the parking lot immediately. No sign of any of Tony's cars, but he waited outside for five minutes or so, just to see if he came out. Nothing.

Phil tapped in the last address with a heavy heart. It would take him a half hour to get there, and by then...well, it had already been almost two hours. Tony was in danger. 

He was going to lock Stark in his bedroom when he got back, make sure he showered, ate, and rested, and then, when he was awake and functioning, blister his ears with the lecture of his life.

That thought comforted Phil as he drove towards the last club, but not much.

...

Tony felt her arms around his waist and quivered, though at this point whether it was from arousal, fear, or exhaustion, he wasn't sure. It felt good to be touched, but...there was something _wrong_ with this touch. It ached and felt wrong, sick...there was something in it that made his skin hurt. But she was touching him and no one ever wanted to do that because no one loved him, no one wanted him, and so Tony didn't say anything.

She ground against him as they danced, and Tony bit back a whimper as he realized he could feel blood rushing from his head and hands to pool in his groin, bubbling up and making him aroused. He didn't _want_ to be aroused, he didn't want--he wanted to go to sleep, to go sleep somewhere safe and warm, maybe Pepper would tuck him in, or Rhodey, or hell, even _Phil_ \--maybe Phil would tuck him in and keep him safe...

He couldn't stop, though. They all wanted this. Not just her. Everyone. They were cheering, calling his name...

She grabbed his groin and squeezed, and it really hurt. Her nails dug in like stakes and Tony bit back a gasping, shuddering sob, because wouldn't _that_ look nice for the tabloids, just another way to torment him, look how he can't handle women anymore--

Tony put a trembling hand over hers and pressed it against him harder. She giggled and kissed his cheek. Her lipstick felt like wax and melted against his skin, making his whole face feel greasy.

"Tony, honey, why don't we take this to the table? There's more to drink back there..." She said, stroking his cheek. "Though I'll be frank, I'm more interested in what there is to _eat_ by now..."

Tony swallowed and gave her a wide grin, throwing his arm around her shoulder and letting her lead him back to the table. A gaggle of people followed behind her, settling in as Tony slid into his seat, pushing the table away from him, trying to put some space between him and the booze.

It didn't work. She poured him another glass, taking one for herself and kissing his cheek. Tony took it in his shaking hand and grinned for the cameras he could feel flashing on his face, their bulbs flickering as hot as gunfire.

"A toast, sweetie?" Her voice was in his ear, warm and pleased. "To...a nice, long night."

Tony clinked his glass with hers and grinned, swallowing the whole thing in one go. Alcohol was fine. Alcohol he could handle. Alcohol was good and cool and dulled the pain of water and dark and heart hurt. Alcohol might let him get some sleep...

Her hand was on him again, kneading. Tony bit back a whimper. It hurt, it _hurt_ to be touched like that, without a care for anything but coaxing an erection from him, and he had been bruised there before and it always ached but he got hard every time anyway, because he was a terrible, rotten person and so his body was terrible and rotten too, rotten and festering with shrapnel, and he _deserved this_ , yes he _did_ , he...

He tried not to get hard. He thought of Phil--the stupid smirk he wore whenever he knew full well he was winning an argument, or the suit he wore, because really, was he ever not wearing a suit? He thought of Rhodey, his best friend, the one person in his life he had never wanted to have sex with, and the one person who hadn't wanted that from him either. He thought of his dad, his machines, everything he could think of that wouldn't make him want sex. He thought of his nice, warm, safe bed, where he could be tucked in and soothed to sleep by someone who loved him.

But his body hated him as much as Tony hated himself, it seemed. He could feel all the blood pumping, leaking down his veins and filling up his cock, making it rise and stiffen, and it hurt, it pulsed like a fresh bruise and he twitched when she squeezed harder, and why wouldn't his body help him, why did his body always want to betray him, hurt him—

Tony gasped and groaned, biting his lip so hard it bled, dripping down his chin. She pulled him into a kiss and sucked at the blood, licking the wound. Tony kissed back out of reflex and practice more than anything, despite how badly his lip now ached. 

The others were cheering them on now, camera clicks like the rattling of guns in his ears, and Tony felt desperately ill but he reached up and grabbed her breast, missing the first few grabs due to his blurred vision, because it was what was expected of him. He was scared. He was so scared. But he knew the routine. This had happened before. It would happen again. It didn't matter if he wanted it. They did. It was all about what they wanted. 

Tony swallowed and let her continue to grope him, get him hard, aching hurting bruise, his own blood betraying him, his heart pounding frantically against the shrapnel, and he was exhausted and _scared_ and he just wanted to _sleep_ , he didn't want _any_ of this...

People were cheering for him, though. Calling his name. Hollering encouragement, taking pictures. He smiled and waved for the cameras. It was okay. The flashing didn't bother him. Everything felt and looked like it was underwater anyway. 

Tony kissed her for a little while longer, his lip still swollen and sore, until suddenly, her hand was at his zipper, undoing, reaching in.

He backed away, his whole stomach lurching and bile rising in his throat, his heart pounding like a frightened animal's. She looked at him with disgust in her eyes and beckoned him back to her side with a single crooked finger.

"Tony, come." She demanded. "Don't you want to play a bit? We don't even have to drive home. C'mon, babe."

"I--I--" Tony swallowed, shaking his head. "Call my driver, I'll be right—right back—"

He meant to kiss her hand before he left, but he missed, his lips at the rim of his glass. There was still rum in it.

He chugged the rest of it and fled outside, his heart pounding, tears in his eyes.

Tony dialed frantically, pushing his phone up against his ear, waiting through the droll ringing hum until finally, there was another voice in his ear.

" _Stark? Stark, where in the_ hell _are you—_ " Phil's voice was a balm on his frayed nerves, even if he was angry, and so Tony sobbed with relief and clutched his phone close.

"Phil," he slurred, his voice suddenly twisting and churning up in his mouth in ways he couldn't explain, "Phil, _help_ , I need—sick, _m'sick_ , all hurty n'sick, s-sick, hursh, h- _hurts_ , help—"

_"I don't_ believe _you! You're drunk? You--you_ idiot _\--Pepper was worried_ sick _and you're out_ drinking _? Tony, this is_ ridiculous _! How could you? We were all so worried, and you just blew us off to get drunk?"_ Phil snapped. He _knew_ he was being harsh, but the relief of the phone call was part of the reason why; Tony was _alive_ , Tony was just out clubbing, but _god_ , wasn't that the problem anyway? 

"Help!" Tony begged, sobbing brokenly, clutching his phone. "Phil, help, _pleash!_ Pleash, _scared_ , hursh, bruising, _h-hurts_ , b-bruises, water, help...help, _help._..pleash, don' _like_ thish...hurtin' me... she's _hurting_ me..."

Tony began crying, the bruises on his skin throbbing and pulsing with blood. It hurt to cross his legs. It hurt to do pretty much anything, really. He wanted help...wanted Phil...

"Come get me, please?" Tony whispered, his voice quivering and broken. "Come get me. Please...p-please. Tuck me into bed, I'm _tired,_ I don't wanna...don't wanna...it bruises when I touch it, I don't wanna...I just wanna go to _sleep,_ tuck me in, please..."

_"You're wasted. I can't even talk to you right now. I'll be there soon. Not that you deserve it._ " Phil's voice was cold as he hung up. 

Tony gripped his phone for a second, his vision blurred with tears and alcohol. 

Not even his _friends_ wanted to help him. Was Phil even a friend? No, he wasn't. Tony was a liar. A bad, dirty liar. He didn't _have_ friends. He was too awful for friends. He didn't _deserve_ friends.

Tony sniffled and rubbed his eyes before standing up, the world spinning around him as he stumbled back into the club. He could go back in there. It was a dark, sick, scary place, but that was all he deserved...

...

Phil sighed and stared at his phone. Maybe that...that had been cruel. No, scratch that, it _definitely_ had been cruel. And he had known it. But...Tony was alive and in no real danger, and he could go get him and apologize later, when he was sober, because what mattered was that he was _safe,_ and knowing he hadn't died...he was alternately frustrated and overwhelming full of relief.

... _Was_ he safe, though? Was he _really?_

Phil swallowed and pushed forward on the gas pedal a bit as he thought.

He had been called like that before. Days in the field, with the heat pounding, people shooting at them, hunger and thirst getting the better of them...a stressful, awful situation to say the least...Clint and Natasha had called him when things got that bad.

They had sounded just like that. Exactly the same notes of panic and fear, all of it blending together to sound like a terrified keen as they begged and pleaded and cried in his ear; his partners had wept and sobbed from disorientation, exhaustion, fear, all the things that came standard issue on a mission for the two agents. And Phil had calmed them down and soothed them and sang to them when they needed it, he had made them promises and acted on them when he could, he had loved them and nurtured them, tended to their hurts...

So why hadn't he done that with Tony?

Was it because it was just another night in the club for Tony, getting wasted, ignoring calls, living it up—something that didn't, to _him,_ seem like a deadly battlefield, like the ones he had dragged Clint and Natasha off of? 

No, it wasn't _their_ kind of battlefield...but it _was_ Tony's. Tony was suffering from the same disorientation, exhaustion, and fear that an agent after a long slog through whatever war zone they had fallen into would feel. And for Tony, the club was a war zone. 

Yes, something...something had been _wrong_ there. He hadn't liked the tone of Tony's voice; there was something far more broken and frightened than even just being drunk in a loud, bright place would cause for a survivor of a POW camp. No, there had been...something _rough_ there, something dark. He didn't like the undercurrent that rang throughout Tony's voice, or what it implied.

It was Phil's mistake to not have known and accounted for that, and he would feel guilty later—after he had gotten Tony out. He hadn't been lying to Pepper—she and Tony were in his care, as any agent would be, and that meant he was going to drag Tony off of this battlefield—with his bare hands if he had to.

Phil pressed against the pedal and screamed through Malibu, heading right for the club. 

...

Tony nuzzled into her neck and kissed it, licking the skin as she wrapped an arm around his waist and put her other hand in his lap. He was acting on pure reflex. Flesh met his lips, so he kissed it and touched it. That was what they wanted. 

He was exhausted. He wanted to go home. But he couldn't, not with this wall of flesh in his way...

He nuzzled and licked, eyes heavy-lidded, as she began to knead him again, bruising making him pulse, blood throbbing between his legs. Tony's thighs quivered as he bit her neck a little. He hadn't meant to, but she yanked his hair and pulled his head back, descending onto his neck, biting down on the lightly tanned skin and making him choke down screams and cries of pain. He felt blood leaking up from his bruising to come bead on his skin, all torn up and battered, and her tongue was in the wounds...

He could still hear people cheering, laughing. They were laughing at him. Tony was used to that. He heard it in his nightmares, sometimes; people laughing at him as he was held underwater, his heart falling out of his chest. 

Tony quivered and pursed his lips, hands searching for something to hold onto, someone that would take him and pull him up out of the water and take him away from here, hold his hand and tuck him into bed. 

His hands found nothing beneath their grasp.

Tony twitched, his hips jerking upward as he felt her undoing his belt and tearing open his zipper, yanking his pants down. Tony tried to back away, but the alcohol had blurred his vision, made his body useless and heavy. He could barely summon up the coordination to back up a little, and then she was on him, her thighs straddling his waist as she kissed his forehead with his blood on her lips, smearing it against his skin.

"Obie said you'd like this, don't worry." She murmured, and it almost sounded like a comfort. Tony didn't know how to open his mouth; his tongue was thick and fuzzy in his throat, and he could feel the alcohol weighing his limbs down, making them slow and useless as he tried to reach up and grab at her, tell her to stop, it hurt...

Tony tried to force his mouth open, but when he managed to work up the strength and force his numb brain to do something, amber liquid gushed forth from his throat, a condemnation, and any protests he might have made were silenced with another kiss that tasted like beer and gunpowder.

...

Phil stormed up to the club with murder in his eyes and a gun at his waist, so it was no surprise that the bouncer just let him in, without even needing the government agent spiel. No one wanted to be caught in the storm that was currently brewing around Coulson, and as he made his way through the club, everyone backed off, watching him warily. He was not one of them; his outfit made that clear, but his bearing made it even clearer. He was not here for anything other than a hunt, a rescue.

The table didn't take long for him to find; Tony always tended to attract a crowd. When he saw what was going on, and what she was doing, his vision flashed red, and he reached for his gun without really thinking, his fingers itching to avenge, just this once—not only Tony, but someone else, someone else he loved dearly who had been taught to regard her body as public property, as Tony clearly had, and the both of them _needed him_ now, and the red pounded against his eyes and in his ears, demanding sacrifice—

But Coulson was not here to kill. He was not here to avenge. He was here to _save._

And so he simply tapped her on the shoulder, well aware he could dislocate the bones that lurked beneath his fingertips, and when they both looked up at him, Tony with tears in his eyes, Coulson smiled and held out his hand, knowing it was exactly what Tony had needed.

"Sorry," he said, "but he's out past his curfew."

The weight of Tony Stark as he flung himself into Phil's arms and clung to him for dear life was a heavy one, but it was a weight not unlike others he had carried for far longer, and so he just smiled and held on tight, taking him out of the war zone and carrying him towards the car.

"Time to go home, Tony." Phil murmured, settling him in and wrapping him up in a spare blanket he kept in the back of the car. Tony moaned softly with the first genuine delight he had felt all night. Phil stroked his hair and clucked his tongue, a disapproving hum, but one that spoke of tender affection as well.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner...and I'm sorry I got angry. I was just...relieved you were okay—I thought you were dead, Tony..." Phil sighed. "I'm so glad I got here in time. I saved you. It's okay. I've got you. You're all right. C'mon. Let's go home and calm the others down; they've missed you."

Tony's eyes were unfocused, not really seeing much as Phil got into the car and started the ignition, but there were tears in them, suddenly, and a small smile had spilled across his lips.

Phil drove slowly, steadily creeping through traffic, not feeling any particular urge to rush. Tony was safe and sound, for real this time, drifting off beside him. He had saved him. He had done his job. And maybe a little more than that.

"We love you, Tony." Phil murmured, and he knew the other man couldn't be listening, but he spoke anyway. "Don't you get that now? We all love you. We all want you safe. And everyone important in your life is going to take care of you; Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and JARVIS...and, well, myself, I suppose." He sighed and stroked Tony's hair with one hand as he turned towards Tony's house. 

"You're loved, Tony. For who you are. That's why I was sent here tonight; not because Pepper or I were worried about what this would do to the _company,_ but because we were concerned about _you_. We're here to take care of _you_ , Tony. Remember that, okay?" Phil said. He wasn't sure what he was saying, not particularly, but the truth was that Tony had wormed his way into Phil's heart, broken as he was, and if there was anything Phil Coulson was good at, it was fixing up broken people.

"Never forgot." Tony murmured, startling Phil—he honestly hadn't thought the other man was awake. "Just...never thought I deserved it, either."

"Well, you do," Phil said, his voice thick with sudden emotion. "You most certainly do, Tony. And you're going to get it from all of us, got it? For as long as we're here."

Tony nodded, finally closing his eyes completely, settling in onto the plush leather seat with a soft sigh. Phil pulled the blankets up around him a bit more, and Tony was asleep seconds after, soothed to sleep by Phil's touch.

Just before Tony gave himself completely over to sleep, in his heart, he felt a sudden, soft rush of affection and relief. He was still waiting for another man to take care of him; a man he had dreamed of and who, trapped in the ocean under six feet of ice, dreamed of him. But for the moment...Coulson would do. And so Tony was safe.


End file.
